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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634020">Tea Box</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannona/pseuds/Shannona'>Shannona</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Illusioned [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Love, M/M, Nightmares, Parenthood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Ron Weasley is a Good Boyfriend, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Ron Weasley is a good husband, Sexual Content, ron weasley stan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 10:41:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,254</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25634020</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannona/pseuds/Shannona</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron Weasley and the innocent (not so innocent) ponderings on 'The Boy Who Lives to Make Tea'.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Illusioned [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Tea Box</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Set in the Illusioned AU - a sort of/not really sequel to the story Illusioned where Ron Weasley explores his relationship with The Boy Who Lived.</p><p>A quick thank you to everyone who has helped me along the way with this project.</p><p>Updates when I do them (I am terrible at scheduling myself and get far too excited when a chapter is written and ready to go!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If there was ever one staple at their home, Grimmauld Place, it was the old wooden tea box that stood on the left hand side of their counter. It was made of a dark mahogany and the lid was intricately carved, an almost tribal scene of early humanity giving gifts to one another. It had been found in the attic not long after they had moved in, buried amongst the darkest of magical artifacts, items that had avoided their fifth year purge, and they had been wary to touch it because of it’s fellow storage peers. But something had drawn his, then just best friend, to the box and before long it was filled to the brim with the one item that he was sure Harry Potter could not live without; tea.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron had never seriously considered Harry’s tea obsession until they had taken up residence in the old Black home, now belonging to his best friend. Of course, being extremely British, there was something to be said about a good cup of tea, brewed strong on a bad day and milky when you need some comfort. Ron had watched Harry make tea throughout the years at Hogwarts, sitting opposite him at the long Gryffindor table and had grown to learn that his most common preference in the morning was strong, two sugars, black. In those days he would stick to extra milky at lunchtime and always took it extra sweet after dinner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He supposed he should have paid more attention at the time, but whenever Harry was at the Burrow he would always leap at the chance to help his mother in the kitchen with a tea round. In their earliest days of summers in the ramshackle house he so adored, he put it down to politeness and as they grew and Harry stayed there more frequently, it had become such the norm that his notice had faded into the background. Now, he was ashamed to admit that he hadn’t even noticed his friends change in tea habits.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was always something great to be said about the Hogwarts kitchens and the luxury items which they stocked, but it turns out that tea varieties were not one. By the time the ‘Golden Trio’ were camping in the forgotten British countryside, he didn't stop to think about the strange fragrances wafting out of the tea cups that Harry held between his frozen fingers. Being the person who was always on the lookout for the bigger things; is Harry hurt, is Harry okay, has Harry had a nightmare; he never really paid attention when Harry would sigh and reference the fact that he didn’t really miss the milky tea of the Great Hall anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the war, before Grimmauld, when they had all but squeezed back to the Burrow, empty for the missing person that was to never grace the breakfast table again, Ron had missed even more of his friends' proclivity for the leaf concoction. In those long, hazy days of grief and mourning, he never once stopped to ponder how his tea cup was always filled. How his mother always seemed to have a soothing waft of camomile in her hands or how the cups that sometimes stacked themselves outside of George’s bedroom door would suddenly vanish, only to be replaced with a fresh, dark brown filled mug before the rest of the house was even awake.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was only as they had finally set up camp in their new bedrooms, unpacked all their furniture and Harry had found himself the beautiful box, that the real tea obsessed Harry had come to light. In those days, Harry’s first words in the morning were always ‘Tea?’. When they got home after a long shift on the Junior Auror wing - ‘Tea?’. After dinner, sitting across from one another as they battled it out of the black and white checked chess board - ‘Tea?’ And just before they sent Hermione off for her final year at school, she coined the phrase that she would still bring up when she had had too much wine to drink . ‘Harry Potter the Boy Who Lived to Make Tea!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron liked tea; it was a nice drink. Did he prefer a pumpkin juice on a hot day? Yes. Did he like a firewhisky or a nice elvish wine in the evening? Absolutely. But as his life in Grimmauld Place had evolved, moved from him and Harry in separate bedrooms, to secret kissing after work, to expressing their undying love for one another, Ron had suddenly come to the realisation that there was no greater drink in the world that the tea, from the tea box on the left hand side of their counter, poured by his wonderful husband Harry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Tea, love?’ Harry asked as he walked into the living room, where Ron was laying on the overstuffed sofa, their daughter asleep on his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes, please.’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey everyone! So I know this is totally different from my last work in this series - but I couldn't help myself. Ever since I made Harry a religious tea drinker in 'Illusioned' I played with the idea that he was more than the friend that makes tea. And who better to explore this than the one person he would miss the most - his wheezy!</p><p>I want to use this first chapter to wish a big Happy 40th Birthday to the one and only inspiration for this work, the Boy Who Lived to Make Tea himself - Harry Potter!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Black Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Black Tea - a tea with a strong flavour, it's leaves are well oxidised. It is their most consumed tea.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The most used tea bag from his husband’s vast collection were the large, overtly expensive (in Ron’s opinion) black tea bags that Harry had procured from his favourite ‘tea sommelier’ in the heart of London.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron had not really understood what all the fuss was about. Ever since they had lived together, they had been purchasing their shopping from the same grocery store that his mother had told them about. It was small, but always well stocked, and they would always deliver in an emergency. This had become particularly useful when they had started to have guests more frequently. But, around the realms of their third year officially together, Harry had started to complain about the black tea that came from the place, stating that it had become more bitter and that he was worried they weren’t using fairtrade routes to procure their leaves. Now, it was Ron’s job, at this point, to make his face into an expression that feigned interest in Harry’s tea rant while his brain really wandered off to think about the upcoming Cannon’s season or the latest broom model that was being shown in Diagon Alley.  But, thinking back, Ron had wished he had listened more when, three weeks later, Harry had come home in a whirl of breathlessness and joy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To give the man some credit, it was not as if he moped around the house and its surrounding city in a fit of despair, but some weeks were more difficult than others to get a smile to rise on the man's cheeks. That morning he had kissed Ron on the forehead as he spent his usual Saturday morning sprawled on the bed in a ‘well-deserved lie in’ and told him that he was popping into town for some exploration, mumbling something about a tea tip-off. In all fairness, it was at that point that Ron should have shaken himself out of his weary-eyed morning stupor to explore the phrase ‘tea tip-off’, but being the night owl that he was, he did not really have the energy to lift his head of their exquisite Egyptian cotton pillows.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry had thrown himself into the kitchen, large and suspiciously nice looking shopping bags in tow as he almost winded himself trying to explain the day he had had.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Perkins told me all about it,’ he had rushed. ‘A really old tea shop on the Strand and, Merlin Ron, was it amazing. There was this man who let me try about a thousand different types of tea, well I should call him a tea sommelier because that’s his profession, and we spoke about all the things I loved about tea. It was kind of the perfect day…’ he had trailed off, a look of pure wonder on his face. When retelling this story to their wore-begotten friends, it is at this point that they will often ask if Ron was offended by the implication that tea brought Harry more happiness that he ever could, but in reality, Ron had decided that Harry’s strange affinity with tea was something he could never match, and had accepted that as his only downfall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, Harry had proceeded to spend the evening showing his exasperated boyfriend, as he was his title back then, the collection he had purchased. Ron had both secretly sworn at the ‘tea sommelier’ for his skills at pushing Harry to purchase more tea then he thought they would ever need, and thanked Merlin, and the Potter parents, that Harry was rich enough to be able to foot the bill for his latest, brilliant find. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he had said, Ron had not really understood what the fuss was all about, at first. He could not see how the black tea that he had bought from this ‘old shop on the Strand’, that looked near on identical to the tea they had purchased from the grocers, was worth the inflated price. And Ron was sure that Harry had noticed the far off look Ron would give him wherever he offered it, a look that was probably skin to that of a Healer in the Janus Thickey ward staring at their bemused patient. But, Harry’s insistence that he try it ‘just once, because I think you will like it,’ eventually won him over, and a steaming dark cup had been placed in front of him, while Harry watched him like he was on a particularly important stake out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And in one sip, one incredibly smooth, strong, oxidised sip, it was made clear to Ron that this would soon become his favourite tea in the house. Not because the flavour was so richly intense that he could taste it hours later, not because it was so steeped in caramel undertones that it reminded Ron of Halloween and not because, when drunk with milk, it was so good to soothe muscle aches after a long game of pick up Quidditch. No. It would become his favourite tea because it reminded him of Harry. Well, all the tea they owned reminded him of Harry, but this one reminded him of the moments in which Harry was the strongest of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the tea that represented the moment Harry decided to walk into the forest to save a world that didn’t really appreciate the sacrifice of a boy. The steps that Harry had taken that day, to his own death, without a single thought of what would happen after he was gone, had shown a bravery that Ron had only ever seen in Harry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the tea that represented the moment that Harry had told him of his true feelings, the ones he had hidden for so long. It was only with this that Ron had been comfortable, even brave enough to attempt to think of the possibility of allowing himself his feelings for his best friend. And even as Ron stumbled and wavered, kissing and running away, beating himself up over the guilt he was feeling, Harry had been there, standing by him, strong and sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the tea that represented the moment that he and Harry had become fathers. The immense stress that Ron had felt that day, boiling down to the final moments in the delivery room; the sounds, the sights, the shaking of his own limbs. It was only with Harry’s strength that he had been able to make it through without cracking. Only with Harry’s hand in his, tight and solid under his fingertips. Only with Harry’s crooked smile and fiercely burning emerald eyes had he not crumbled under the weight of their tiny, perfect, miracle in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry loved the black tea. It was the tea they gave the majority of their guests, unless they were asked for something specific. It was always the tea of the day. Ron loved the black tea. But, what Ron loved more was the strength of the man he loved - even if that man spent an inordinate amount of money on a tea that they could pick up from any of the corner stores near their house.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know that I said I was going to upload once a week, but I hit a writing groove and initially I was going to wait to upload but...I got too excited. I hope you enjoyed it. Sending the love your way.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Green Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Green Tea - A light and earthy flavour, its leaves fresh and full of the flavour of spring. It is an experiment that Ron will have to abide.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ron had always known Harry to be the adventurous type; had made it pretty clear during their years at Hogwarts that he would accompany him along even the most dangerous of tasks. There was never a single regret in his mind; no injury too bad, no risk too great. In the years that had stretched between their days of seemingly endless and absurd danger to now, Ron had seen a change in the type of adventure that they were to go on. Even with their work in the Auror Department; their ‘dangerous tasks’ had morphed into ‘will we fight about the new sofa’, ‘who will finish the chores first’ and, most important in his husband's eyes ‘why won’t you try my new type of tea?’ And although he was still determined to follow Harry to the ends of the earth, the older Ron became, the more he realised that the adventurous side of him seemed to be waning along with his ability to get out a chair without sounding like an old man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry, in contrast, seemed to be full of the same energy as the small boy who had allowed Ron to sit in his compartment on the Hogwarts Express all those years before. He took on the most difficult cases at work, religiously played pick up quidditch on the weekends, went for a run every single morning without fail and was still able to find the energy to complete basic household chores. Ron would often express this to a bemused Hermione, who would simply exclaim ‘What did you expect? He’s died once already - he just wants to make the most of everything.’ And when it came to his tea loving, Harry really did love to make the most of it, wanting to try everything flavour he could get his hands on, attempting to force Ron into it as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron had decided long ago that he was a man of simple tastes; that Harry’s black tea would serve him well, that his mother's roast would be a meal befitting any and all dinners and that he would happily visit Cornwall every year on their holiday if it meant they didn’t have to deal with the arseholes in the Travel Department at the Ministry. But for Harry, life was all about what was coming next. There was nothing wrong with that; their life was full of fun and laughter, full of activities and love and Ron, much to his chagrin, came to the realisation that no matter how much he wanted an easy life now that their job of saving the world was over, he didn’t think he would ever be able to say no to his best friend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So when a particularly warm Saturday morning rolled around and Ron had made his way downstairs to see Harry sitting at the old wooden kitchen table, two cups of tea already perched on the worn wood, he frowned suspiciously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Why are you here?’ he asked, expecting to find the house empty and eyeing the two cups with a nervous energy that always preceded the tasting of a new blend.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well good morning to you too, love…’ was the reply he received. That and an absurdly large eye roll. Ron slouched over, dropping a kiss to the top of his messy hair and sighed, using the breath to try and get a whiff of whatever concoction lay in front of the man he loved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was only one hint he could bring from the perfunctory sniff - grass. A heedy, sweaty, summer grass. The sort of smell that only filled their house when he and Harry had played a particularly long game of Quidditch, the sort of game Harry should have been at right about now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You know that’s not what I mean. What happened to Quidditch?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Dean has food poisoning, Neville said there is a convention in France about the latest magical discoveries of the Mimblus Mimbeltonia, Ginny is hungover and Malfoy said he can’t leave Hermione with a belly that round - I am pretty sure he is wishing the baby would hurry up so that she doesn’t kill him any time soon. The rest of us decided that 5 missing are just too many and called it off.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry,’ he chuckled, thinking pleasantly about the imagery of Hermione killing Malfoy on a glorious sunny morning. It wasn’t as if he hated the guy anymore, far from it, but he was pretty sure that Draco Malfoy was conspiring against him to convince his husband to buy more tea than he could ever possibly consume.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slumped down opposite Harry and, knowing that the man was watching him with wary eyes, made eye contact with his favourite mug, taking in the colour of the liquid inside. If the grassy smell had been enough to turn Ron off what was sure to be a disastrous first drink, the colour definitely would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was pale and translucent, a fake green tinge to the hot water that sat in the cup. This meant that there was no milk, and Ron was not a fan of tea without milk. And it wasn’t as if the unnatural, fake green colour and ingestible content went well together; he hated Thai green curry, would not touch anything mint flavoured and, since a particularly bad New Years Party at the Malfoys, would not touch green cocktails if his life depended on it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘New tea?’ he bit the bullet, wincing at the vivid smirk that crossed Harry’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘How could you tell?’ he asked, his face lighting up. ‘Draco recommended it to me when I went over to collect those notes on the case his department is assisting on.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron groaned, confirmation of their conspiring now attained, he would have to confront the blonde ferret and plead his case without looking and sounding like a crazy person. A feat that he knew was particularly difficult when Harry hated him confronting Draco about anything, when Draco’s wife was about to burst forth the product of their cross-pollinating ways and when he, unfortunately had to admit, he liked the man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Do you want to try it?’ Harry’s face still brighter than the sun, looking at him like a puppy who has lost its way was impossible to say no to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Is this assuming I have a choice in the matter!’ he mumbled, rubbing his tired and sleep covered eyes with the heel of his hands. There was no response, so he pulled his hand away to meet the death glare of the man opposite him. ‘Do I have a choice?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No!’ said Harry, pushing the cup towards him and crossing his arms over his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron had risked a lot for Harry; his life, his health...and now it would appear that his taste buds would have to be added to that list. But, nevertheless, he picked up the warm mug, placed the grassy smell under his nose and sipped, watching a big smile spread across his husband’s face. Harry leapt to his feet, rounded the table and placed a kiss on his temple.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Right! I am off for a run!’ he said happily, before sauntering out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, Ron would never be able to say no to Harry. Ron would always follow him everywhere he went, even if it left him with a mouth full of warm liquid that tasted like a field of grass after it had been cut. He sighed resignedly, knowing that he would rather have a mouth of dirty green grass water than see that man pout at him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I am learning so much about tea - a drink that I do not partake in - and I am really starting to love the idea of characters being attributed to drinks. And I am loving all the fluff writing, something I am not really used to. I hope you are still enjoying it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. White Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>White Tea - A soft and easy flavour, made from the leaf of the white tea plant. It’s a taste that Ron is unlikely to forget.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was something to be said about a man who could drink tea and instantly appoint it to the best and most memorable attributes of the person he loved. A man who could smell the freshly brewed tea of his lover and be transported back to any particular moment of their 25 year history. A man who, no matter how hard he tried to be strong and capable, tried to be stoic and somewhat ‘British’, was unable to think about white tea without going weak at the knees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he first tasted white tea, it had been at one of the most terrifying moments of his young adult life. Now, Ron knew that he had seen some scary moments before; death, destruction, his best friend walking to his own death. But nothing topped the list of ‘The Most Scary Moments in Ron Weasley's’ life higher than their first kiss. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching Harry mope around the house for weeks on end, unable to communicate properly, was not a Harry he was unused to seeing. But normally, he would have Hermione to talk to, someone else to occupy his time while he brooded over whatever things had upset him. But it was harder now, with Hermione away and they the only two in the house. Harder because, for as long as he could remember, he just wanted to take Harry and hold him until it was all better. Wanted to tell him the one thing that he hoped would make him happy. And he had been unable to hold it in anymore and had shouted at Harry as he came out of the kitchen, a fresh cup in his hand. The words of anger and mistrust spilled from his lips like an uncontrollable fountain and when he had stopped, his breathing harsh and ragged, Harry had just sighed and said it straight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m gay Ron!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had hit him like a steam train, big and red, it’s whistle blowing as the alarm bells in his own head started to play. Those two words; ‘I’m gay’ falling from the lips of the man in front of him, made his lungs swell and suddenly it was like everything had clicked into place. And without thinking, without wondering what Harry would do, or what their family would think, or how he would ever be able to explain it to Hermione, he had taken the three steps between them and brought their lips together in what could only be described as a crash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t sweet, or pure or gentle like how those horrible romance books his mother always read described a first kiss. It was almost animalistic, Ron pushing his entire body flat against Harry’s until there was a faint thud as Harry’s back connected with the hallway wall. Ron could feel the warm cup of tea between them, the outside of Harry’s finger pressing into his chest as their lips met. Ron thought his brain was disconnected from the rest of him, the sensation dulled and frightening, until Harry made a noise that ignited a fire inside him, until Harry parted his lips and Ron’s tongue darted inside and tasted the softed aroma he had ever had the pleasure to taste. The white tea, coating Harry’s tongue as they slid against one another, Ron’s hands coming up to wind themselves into the other man’s unruly hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as quickly as it had begun, as urgently as he had taken what he had always wanted - it ended. Ron had looked down upon the face of the Saviour, whose lips were now red and swollen and who looked so wanton against their hallway wall, who looked so shocked at the development - and he hadn’t been able to say anything. He had turned and ran, ran out of the house and down the street, not stopping until his lungs burned and he collapsed against the dark brick of a corner shop, bringing his hands to his own swollen lips, tasting the lingering scent of the white tea from Harry’s tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And since that moment, it appeared that white tea would frame their life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The scent overwhelming him as an innocent kitchen kiss grew heady, the soft spice surrounding them as Harry went down onto his knees, his mouth enveloping him in soft groans and tight fingers. The incense intoxicating him as he kissed him afterwards, a winning smirk plastered across his features, the faint blush of pride dappled across his cheeks and neck. The aroma mixing with the musk of his lover as he sank down to the flagstones to repay the favour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The taste of the clear, pale, milky tea as Harry makes it in the evening as he went over case notes, frustrated beyond belief and Ron, so desperate to make him forget his stress, kissed him into the sofa cushions. The two of them rubbing against one another as they reached a fever pitch, their moans echoing throughout their living room, the edge of their climax just beyond reach. The taste of white tea furling with the taste that is so utterly Harry Potter that it could make him cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The idea of white tea, its soft undertones and calming nature, the way it wraps itself to the inside of a teacup - this idea swimming in his head as Harry takes his hand and leads him to bed for the first time. The overwhelming sensation of being over the Boy Who Loves Him, his face buried in his neck and his hands roaming to places they had never dared to touch before. The crushing feeling of skin on skin, the wrap of legs around a waist and fingers entwining against the white tea sheets. The paralyzing sensation of sinking into him for the first time, afraid to break him, afraid to never be enough for him as Harry sighs into the shell on his ear. The shattering feeling of being so utterly complete as they came together, as they both grow boneless together and curl around one another in the indefinite space, Ron needing to remain as close as he had just found himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sight of waking up to Harry Potter, lying next to him, his hair fanned out on the pillow, his lips gently parted. The sight of comfort and home endearing Ron to lean in for a morning kiss and, even though it had long faded, still sensing the aftertaste of the white tea he had so enjoyed over dinner the night before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron will forever be mesmerised by the rounded, silky flavour of the white tea that sits in the top right-hand corner of their tea box and he will always feel the hot flush of inebriating arousal as he remembers the moments where white tea has infested their daily lives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that’s just the way he likes it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Pu-erh Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Pu-erh Tea - A sweet and earthy flavour with the undertones of rich and warming chocolate. Ron Weasley loved chocolate; Harry Potter did not.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ron Weasley loved chocolate. He loved the smell of it, the taste of it, the way in which it melted to his fingers as he ate it and left marks on some of his homemade jumpers. He loved when it was warm and sticky, the roof of his mouth becoming coated in it. He loved it when it was cold and hard, the chill running down his throat as he chewed it to oblivion. Ron loved chocolate so much that he was always bemused when Harry turned it down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry Potter liked chocolate, it was okay, but there were other things in life he would prefer. Ron knew from early on in their friendship that Harry didn’t really have a sweet tooth; he liked the occasional sugar quill and loves a treacle tart for dessert, but treats were not something he was used to. Because of this, Ron got the joy of enjoying the one tea in Harry’s collection that usually remained untouched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Pu-erh tea, in it’s bright orange wrapper and decorative design, had been part of a gift hamper from their team at work after their wedding day. Harry had been so excited to see the new tea, a tea that he had never even seen in his disgustingly expensive tea shop on the Strand, that he had torn it from it’s wrappings, it seems, before their bags were unpacked on their return from a Honeymoon in Hawaii. A flick of the wand sending the kettle into a well versed drill as Ron chuckled into the darkening light of the kitchen. The tea bags stewed to the recommendation on the box while Harry read and reread the description of the aromatic flavours he was about to encounter. And a sip, Harry always sipped first, and a look. A look that Ron had seen so many times before, but a look he had never seen following a tea tasting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Disappointment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t like it,’ his voice was flat, his emerald eyes dulled to that of a forest green, his mouth curving into a forlorn frown that Ron did not really want to see after having come home from the most incredible two weeks of his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron, his own eyebrows furrowed in confusion, had brought the cup to his own lips, letting the warm drink wash over his tongue...and instantly knew what the problem was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It tastes like chocolate,’ Ron said, smiling down at the cup and feeling astounded that he could find a cup of tea that he preferred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yep! Chocolate!’ Harry had sighed, rising from the chair and silently leaving the room, unable to hide the evident disappointment he felt any longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For someone who didn’t really like chocolate all that much, for someone who did not really have a sweet tooth or enjoy the loves that children often do - Harry could be incredibly childish. Ron did not see it as a fault - just something that he had learned to accept over the years, understanding that it was not Harry’s fault that he was like this. But the overreaction to the disappointment of the tea with the chocolate undertones just reminded Ron of all the ways in which Harry could not express himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was unable to regulate his anger; it burst out of him in fits of rage, uncontrollable and unchecked. He was always the first of them to lose his temper in an argument and he was unable to let those arguments go. Harry had a knack of bringing up the worst parts of Ron and knew how to hurt him when he wanted. Ron knew that arguments were part of a healthy relationship; he had seen his own parents argue more times that he could count, had witnessed and often intervened whenever Hermione and Draco went at it for too long and so whenever the anger got too much, he would walk away and allow Harry some time to calm down. Harry would always apologise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was very secretive. Harry did not like to talk about the things that bothered him; he did not like to express his emotions when he needed to. Sometimes Ron would become frustrated with the way that Harry locked himself away in his own mind. This was another thing that caused him to become uncontrollably angry - he had no release. At the beginning of them living together, Harry would retreat in on himself for days and it took a lot of coaxing on Ron’s part to get him to open up about anything. After the infamous hallway kiss, as it was referred to by their immediate group of friends, Harry started to use kissing and frotting as a way to release everything he couldn’t say.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found it very hard to understand complex emotions. Ron had to admit that as a younger man, emotions were not something he was an expert at either. Hermione’s comment about him having the emotional range of a teaspoon had been completely accurate. But growing up brought a lot of things to Ron; love, intense friendship and compassion. He realised, not long after their relationship started, that Harry had trouble expressing more than one emotion and had an even harder time understanding people whose own feelings contradicted themselves. And the older they got, the more obvious it was;  Ron having to do a lot of victim interviews as Harry could not see past the facts of a case, Ron having to explain to Harry why Draco was so upset when his father died even though he hated him, Ron having to talk Harry down from the metaphorical ledge whenever he became overwhelmed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ron knew, it wasn’t Harry's fault he was this way, it was a complex created by the people who raised him. The people who still got Ron’s blood boiling. He can still picture the bars on his window, clear as day. He can still hear the small child in Harry’s voice as he confessed about his living conditions for the first 11 years of his life. The upset in his face when he realised he didn’t like a tea flavour - the first one he had never really liked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry Potter was a bunch of complex things, kind of like the tea collection that they stored and he did eventually come to terms with not liking the wedding gift. He had resigned himself to throw it out before Ron had put a stop to that notion, explaining that he loved the taste of that tea. Harry had been disgusted, telling him that the taste of chocolate tea was a bit immature, but Ron had told him very clearly that chocolate held a special place in his heart. Chocolate reminded him of chocolate frogs and the way in which Harry had so generously shared one with him on the Hogwarts Express. How it reminded him of the endless hours spent exploring Hogsmeade and Honeydukes. How he became embarrassed at the memory of chocolate cauldrons spiked with love potion and how he had been able to convince Harry to give over one of their wedding cake layers to chocolate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so, to Ron’s happiness, the Pu-erh had remained and whenever he was feeling particularly reminiscent of his days as a child, full of wonder and with a significantly faster metabolism than the one he had grown into, he would sit down to enjoy a cup of the chocolate infused tea that Harry so despised.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not being a big fan of chocolate myself, I can see where Harry is coming from in this chapter and I wanted to put a little bit of myself into the character I have grown so much to love. I hope you are all still enjoying this adventure into the lives of these special and obviously very loved boys!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Earl Grey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Earl Grey - The most recognisable tea on the British Isles, it’s flavour is a complex mixture of Black Tea with citrus and bergamot. It is ideal for calming one’s nerves after a particularly trying night.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Like all good things, it must come to an end. And that was the phrase that had popped into Ron’s head the minute he was awoken in the middle of the night, their first night together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had happened before, first in the Gryffindor dormitory, a night in mid December where the full moon was shining through the drafty window. Ron had been walking up the stone steps to his own bed when he heard the first unusual noise and, creeping through in the hopes of not to wake anyone, had heard it again. A groan and a whimper, growing more and more insistent - then the hissing had begun and Ron had rushed to his friend’s bedside in an instant to find him sweaty and delirious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew that Harry had nightmares, knew that his life up to that moment had not been pleasant. The way in which their last school year ended, with the death of a fellow student in front of Harry’s eyes could not have been easy. Ron remembered his feelings over the summer, camped out in Grimmauld Place, and fretting that if he ever saw anyone die up close like that he knew his world would end. It was no surprise that it had affected Harry so. And it was watching his friend struggle by himself, in a place that he could not go and help, that had struck the first feelings deep in his chest. The ones that left his upper half tight and made it difficult to breath. In those moments he had thought it a testament to their friendship, that he could hurt so much by just watching Harry in pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It happened even more in the tent, in those blustery nights where it was the three of them against the world. It was in these moments, when Harry would whimper and shift within the sheets, that he was glad to have Hermione there with him. They would take it in turns to check on Harry; at first it was awkward to wake their friend with comforting words, but towards the end of the war, it felt like something they had been doing their whole life. It was these nights that Ron appreciated the most, when Hermione was on watch, her beady eyes far away. When Harry would begin to sink further into a nightmare and Ron was able to place a hand gently to his forehead, or wrap his fingers gently around his shoulders and lull him awake. And for a second after his eyes were open, Harry would look at him with so much fear that Ron was afraid that he would fall into the green abyss and never be able to climb out. But then Harry would realise it was him, and a grateful smile would pass his lips before he collapsed back to the camp bed cushions, exhaustion taking him once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made him feel guilty that he had started to enjoy those moments, the moments that Hermione had dubbed ‘Harry reflexes’, when he was what Harry needed the most of all. The tightness in his chest now a familiar feature, the skip of his heartbeat relatively new but still welcomed. But it ate away at him, the way in which he could see Harry falling further and further and how it was becoming harder and harder to wake him. Hermione and he would exchange glances across the tent, and somewhere deep inside Ron had started to realise that this meant a deeper connection than they all feared to admit. It meant that the war was drawing to a close and the outcome was unsure as ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the war, when they had all gone back to the Burrow for the summer and Harry had moved into a spare room for space, Ron would lie awake at night enveloped in his own grief, listening to make sure that Harry was alright. He did this for nights on end, not really sleeping until Hermiome came to him and explained that she had been doing the same thing and that she was sure the nightmares were over. And Ron had let himself believe it, let himself believe that the lecherous piece of soul that had been blasted away had held the key to the nightmares. Had been so desperate to hope that Harry, his Harry, would be able to sleep again. By the time they had moved into Grimmauld Place at the end of the summer, he was sleeping a full night, unbothered by the memories of the once great nightmares that plagued the man that made his stomach fly with trapped winged creatures.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But like all good things, it had to come to an end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That first night they had slept together, the tightness in his chest finding a new home to rest, they had settled down beside each other, nestled in the safety of feeling at home. He had drifted off with his arms surrounding the other man, pulled close to his chest in an effort to ensure he did not run away. But Ron was awoken mere hours later to a scream that wrenched his heart from his chest and had him diving for his wand in the darkness. A quick lumos and his world fell apart to see Harry, sitting on the end of the bed, his head in his hands, his entire body shaking. He could have imagined that it was the first time, he could have told himself that one nightmare since the war was good and they could deal with it. But the way in which Harry could be heard murmuring to himself ‘come on, come on, get a grip, last night was worse, not tonight please,’ had his gut twisting in the reality that Harry had been casting silencing charms since the battle - that he had hidden this from them and had been battling alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Ron had touched him, the look of shame that flooded Harry’s face made his eyes brim with tears. The way that he man's muscles became, if possible, more tense and shook with a ferocity that Ron had never seen. The fear that swallowed him was the unknown sense of not being able to do anything to help and, worse still, that Harry had not trusted him with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Tea?’ Ron has asked him, at a loss for what would help. But smiled when Harry sobbed and nodded his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron had rushed to the kitchen, flicked the kettle on and yanked the lid of the box open, digging through the tea and wishing he understood which was best for the situation. He didn’t want the black tea because it was too strong and would keep him up all night, the white tea was too precious and soft to calm him down. Grabbing a packet that boasted ‘essence of bergamot’, whatever that was, he prayed to Merlin that it would work and rushed back to their bedroom with a warm cup and a soft face. It was only when he watched Harry lift the cup and sigh into the taste, his hands visibly relaxing, that he knew that he could work to fix this - and if not fix it, at least help him to deal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the next few days he went everywhere he could think of to help Harry out; asking his mum and dad, speaking to Bill and Fluer, asking the specially assigned Mind-Healer that the Auror Department boasts. It wasn’t until his dad got back to him with a muggle book that he really felt that he was hitting his stride and before long he felt ready to help Harry, prepared for whatever might come his way in the night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So now, they have a routine. If Harry has a nightmare, Ron will always be there to comfort him; to take his face in his hands and start the counting. To squeeze his hands and ask Harry to point out what he can see, or hear, or taste. To pull Harry back against his chest and ground him with his own breathing before Harry had calmed down enough, his body stopped shaking enough to sob for tea. And Ron will not hesitate to grab the cup of Earl Grey he always has under a statis charm by the bed - lifting it up to his husband's mouth and whispering soothing words until he falls asleep against him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So it would appear that I am speeding through this and loving every moment.</p>
<p>Next upload; as soon as I can put hands to keyboard!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Jasmine Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jasmine Tea - A sweet and highly fragrant tea. A tea that Ron has taken a risk on; what else has he risked?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There will always be risks. It is a part of life and, being part of The Boy Who Lived’s life, it is of a high probability that you will meet more risks than you would have initially expected. Ron was well versed in this homily by the time he decided to kiss Harry; had risked life, limb and privacy to support him and be by his side, but these were the risks that were easy. Giving up his life to the boy and then the man was something he could do without a second thought, it was almost as if it had become second nature to him, something that was as easy as breathing. However, there were things that Ron had not imagined we would have to risk for Harry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first, the one he had thought he gave away years ago, seemed to still be attached the closer their attachment became. Ron, who had felt the tightness in his chest, the butterflies in his stomach and the gut wrenching pain of seeing Harry dishevelled beneath him, had thought that that was what it felt like to risk his heart on the Saviour. He imagined that the depth of his feeling had reached the point where it could go no further, that the jump of his own heart and the tingle at the base of his spine were what he would feel for the rest of his life. He had made peace with the idea that love felt like that. Then his idea of love had been shaken on three separate occasions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The night he had woken up to Harry screaming beside him had released a fear level he did not believe he was capable of possessing. At the time he knew he was calm and collected on the outside, but inside he was screaming, begging anyone to help him. How could anyone sit by when someone they cared so deeply for would writhe in pain and cry in fear? While Harry had sipped on his own cup of Earl Grey, Ron had secretly made himself some Jasmine Tea - the tea that Harry had once told him was good when you lost your nerve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The night that Hermione had walked in on them when she was home for the holidays, suffering through her own emotional torment and needing to feel supported was the second. They had done their best to keep their hands off each other, but Ron could not help but look at Harry whenever he walked into a room, could not stop his stomach from plummeting when he felt his presence close by. When she had gone to bed, a cup of Jasmine tea in her hands, he had taken the risk and leapt on him, falling on top of him on the sofa and, with his kisses, had tried to tell Harry something that his mouth had not been ready to say. But when she had walked in and he had heard the way Harry talked about him, how happy she was for the two of them to have found each other, he melted just that little bit more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Harry took hold of his heart completely on the night that he took Ron in his arms and made him his for the first time. With Harry above him, his eyes baring down into a soul that Ron had thought was nothing but a fairytale to appease small children. With Harry’s arms wrapped under him, guiding him, holding him and taking Ron’s fear as if it were the easiest thing in the world. With Harry falling into him with the most delicious and shattering stretch, Ron’s head thrown back and his throat bared, he knew that his heart was on the line. And when Harry woke him up the following morning with a kiss and a cup of Jasmine tea, he knew it was lost.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Harry challenged everything about him; the way he worked, the way he played Quidditch, the way he folded his clothes. He wanted Ron to be better at everything he could, wanted him to be more confident in everything they did together. Ron had suffered with a lack of self-confidence for as long as he could remember, it was his burden as the youngest brother when his mother was so desperate for a daughter to cherish. He had never felt unloved, just overlooked and because of that he had never really wanted to rock the boat where his parents were concerned. It had been bad enough that he had given them more heart attacks and panic attacks than he could count on two hands because of everything he used to get up to with Harry, he did not want to add another thing to their ever growing list of ‘things Ron and Harry had done.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry tested his nerve, bringing up their relationship over dinner, trying to ascertain what they were to one another. And it broke Ron to hear Harry speak so casually about something that Ron had only ever dreamed of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What is it you want, Harry?’ Ron had asked him one night over a bolognese that Harry had made.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore, Ron. I want to be able to tell people about us.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron took a deep breath and let the fear that was rising in him sink back to the bottom of his stomach as he met his lover’s eyes. There was something so desperate in them that Ron was filled with shame for keeping them quiet for so long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘But...you hate people knowing your business...and the Prophet…’ he rambled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No…’ Harry said quickly, his arm shooting across the table to join their hands together. ‘I meant your family...our family.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so Ron had found himself at the kitchen table at the Burrow, sitting opposite his parents, a cup of Jasmine tea beneath his hands and Harry at his side. He was risking his nerve by being so open with them; telling them that he and Harry had fallen in love and that was just the way it was going to be now. He had felt Harry’s hand, strong as he entwined their fingers, and the warmth of the flesh against his made him understand that it was worth risking his nerve to tell his parents. It was only later that the two of them had laughed about how his mother had burst into tears, telling them that she always knew there was something special about the two of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So many people, a lot of them very close friends and family, had commented that they were both crazy for being in love the way they were. Yes, their friendship could stand the test of time, but could it stand a break up? Ron remembered so clearly that, near the beginning, that was the one thing he was most afraid of; what happened if they broke up? Would he lose the best thing he had? But the months moved by without incident and they gave way to years of comfortable living and glorious loving, and the next thing to be risked turned out to be Ron’s sanity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had taken Hermione to the ring shop to help him pick one out. He had spoken to Neville to arrange the flowers to cover their back garden. He had been cornered by Luna and interrogated about the dangerous infestation of wrackspurts that often accompanied important announcements. But on the night in question, the patio surrounded by wild lilies of all colours and the stars twinkling above them, Ron had turned to face Harry and found him looking at the love of his life already down on one knee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What are you doing?’ Ron asked, panic filling his lungs as he watched the raven haired man put his hand in his pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well - I didn’t want to make it too obvious but…’ Harry laughed, pulling a black velvet box out of the pocket and holding it out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No!’ Ron had shouted, his hands flinging out in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence that followed was something that Ron could only have compared with the sound of a funeral. The look on Harry’s face, the falling of his features, the sagging of his shoulders took his breath away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Oh - ‘ Harry’s broken voice said as he picked himself up from the floor. ‘I thought…’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No! I didn’t mean...it’s just….tonights was meant to be…’ Ron tried to explain, tried to grab onto Harry’s hand as he shoved the box back in his pocket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well - I had this planned for another time but - you led me out here - you made it looks so perfect that I just thought...fuck it, why not now? Obviously I was wrong!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed past him, trying to head back inside when Ron grabbed his hand and spun him around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘You don’t understand! This was all for you, Harry! I wanted to -’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What?’ Harry sounded so defeated that it made him ache with longing to hold him. But instead, he put his hand in his own pocket and pulled out the burgundy velvet box that contained the platinum band that Hermione had picked out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I wanted to use tonight to tell you how much you mean to me. I wanted to tell you that there is no one on this earth that I respect and love more than you. You are everything I could have ever wished for, everything I could have hoped for and...after everything that had happened to us in our lives, how lucky I feel to have found my person - the person who was right by my side the whole time.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Ron, is this…’ Harry tried to ask, but his eyes were filled with tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Yes! You drive me insane you know? I work up the courage to ask you this and you were brave enough to just go for it.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Then...ask me now!’ Harry whispered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron chuckled, lowering himself down on one knee and looking up at The Boy Who Lived.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Harry, will you marry me?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Over the years, however, Ron had realised that the things he was risking by being with Harry, falling in love with Harry, marrying Harry had begun to change into things that he, himself, could not control. A few years ago, after the arrival of their beautiful daughter, Ron had made the decision to leave the Auror’s and to work in the shop with George. It suited him much better; he was tired of running after the bad guy and wanted to make the world laugh more than he wanted to make it safe. But, no matter how much he begged and pleaded, Harry wanted to stay on the force. He knew he could not resent him for the choices he made, it was his life and it was what he really loved. Harry was meant for a life of running after the bad guy and Ron knew that it fulfilled him, so much so that he had turned down the position of Head Auror three times as it took him too far away from the field.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But as Ron ran through the ever familiar, clean cut corridors, being passed by the wizards and witches in lime green robes, he could not help but wish that Harry would stop risking his own life, wish Harry would stop making Ron risk their life together. He thought about all the times he had rushed through the wards and looked desperately at the healer in charge, waiting for the news that would end him. He started to question how many more times he would be able to make this journey before he lost himself in the grief of not having his eyes on Harry as every second passed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mr Potter-Weasley,’ the healer greeted him as he pushed open the double doors of the ward he was so used to entering. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What happened?’ he asked, his voice thick with worry. Worry for Harry and the state of his health, worry for their life together, worry for their daughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He was hit with a rather advanced slicing curse; as I understand it he was able to dodge the centre of the spell but it hit him on the side of his abdomen and thigh. He lost a lot of blood before he was able to be apparated to us and there was a significant amount of damage to the ligaments.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Is he going to be okay?’ he whimpered, his hands clasped around him, trying to seek the comfort he needed. He wished he could hold Lily close to his body, needing to feel family at this moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘We were able to use blood replenishing potions to get his blood levels back to normal, but he will need to take one a day for at least two weeks to ensure his heart can cope with the replenishment. The surgical healers have just finished suturing his wound up, however the curse was a dark one and so he will be left with a rather large scar. As well as this, he must keep weight off for a week and then take it easy for a further month, no field work at all. He had a concussion but we have also treated him for that, he will just feel a little weak and to ensure he doesn’t have any more damage to his brain, we would like to keep him in overnight.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘So, he will be okay?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Mr Potter-Weasley, your husband will survive this one with only minor damage and scarring. You may see him now.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as Ron walked towards the drowsy, prone figure on the hospital bed at the end of the ward, he was filled with the same dread and relief he was always met with. There were no words between them as Ron sat gingerly on the side of the bed, taking Harry’s hand in his, his thumb stroking the tender and bruised skin. Harry’s eyes fluttered open and, upon seeing Ron, a small smile graced his lips and frail tears filled his eyes. Ron lifted Harry’s hand and placed it against his own cheek, pushing his face into the hand of the one person he loved more than anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Ron,’ Harry whispered, his voice strangely small. ‘I accepted the Head Auror position.’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Not long now until this ride is over - in reality I have only one chapter left to write and then I can upload. Update: I tried Jasmine tea and did not like it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chai Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Chai Tea - A heavily spiced tea, loaded with ginger and cardamom. It was a perfect tea to calm them down, and it was a very special lady in their lives who introduced it to them.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Being calm was not something that the Potter-Weasley household was used to. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before their names were joined as one they had never really experienced calm. Running along the halls of Hogwarts as if it were their personal playground, they had found danger and adventure at every turn. They had both found exhilaration on the Quidditch pitch and had found blood and gore on the battlefield. A new heading of War Heroes had greeted them with the press and a prestige that their young minds were not really ready for or capable of. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they had moved to Grimmauld they found the gruelling effort of redecoration and the joy of feeling truly free for the first time in their young lives. And with the start of a new job and the absence of Hermione they had embedded themselves in the thrill of the chase in their work; the unending nights of stake outs and greasy food, the stealth and racing hearts of the covert operations. The pride of a job well done and the celebrations of the Auror office. They had immersed themselves in the adult life of pub visits and hangovers and not a weekend went by when they were not meeting someone or doing something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In less than a year they found themselves dragged into Hermione’s investigation, the worry for her sanity, the fear of the Ministry leak and the horror of having to carry the body of a friend. Ron still remembered the disgusting emptiness he felt when he held Harry as he sobbed against his body, them being the backdrop of Hermione's heartache. They had found magic that had been forbidden and used against them, they had found that Voldemort was not the end of everything they had known before and had been filled with a determination to continue the fight until they were physically unable to do so anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And as they grew together, they had become enveloped in the rush of love, the urgency of passionate touch and the heady taste of each other as they loved with every inch they had, every inch they could grasp onto. The intensity of first love; the first kiss, the first touch, their first time together. They had found the joy of celebrations; of engagements and weddings and anniversaries and above all, they had found the surge of parental love that exploded from them when a baby girl opened her eyes on the two of them. When she had smiled, laughed, crawled, walked and spoke.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, their lives had been the opposite of calm; it had become a mantra to the rest of their family - ‘The Potter-Weasley’s are chaos’. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was one time of day where Ron did feel truly calm and he had Barbara to thank for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Harry had finally decided to accept the job as Head Auror, he had been completely and utterly overwhelmed by the overhaul that the department needed. Thinking back, Ron was sure that he had only seen Harry once a week in that first month and he was sure that Harry had slept so little that he was on the brink of collapse.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Harry, it’s too much!’ Ron said one Sunday morning when he came down the stairs and found that Harry had crashed on the sofa surrounded by paperwork.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t know what you want me to! You were the one who pushed me to take the job and I didnt know how much of a mess the Department was really in until I got there,’ he snapped back, his body full of tension.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What has Kingsley said, is there anything he can do to help you?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘He is supporting the changes I want to make, Ron,’ Harry stressed. ‘There isn’t much more I can ask him for without looking incapable of the role they have given me. Do you want me to fail?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Harry, how could you say that?’ he asked, shocked. Immediately Harry slumped onto the sofa, looking resigned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that! I am just - just so tired!’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In truth, Harry had looked exhausted ever since taking on his new role. The circles under his eyes had not been this bad since the Horcrux hunt and Ron was sure that he was averaging around 3 hours of sleep a night. Ron walked to sit next to his husband's slumped form and massaged his fingers into the back of his neck. He watched Harry visibly relax under his ministrations and sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Well…’ Ron said softly. ‘Rather than asking for help from above, how about finding some help from below?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘My team has enough duties as it is, and they are going to have to deal with all the changes I am about to implement.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘No, not your team. I think you need to hire a personal assistant.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was how Barbara had come into their lives; a chaotic force for good and someone who they both could trust. Harry was able to rely on her to ensure his schedule made sense, that no one burst into his office unannounced and that he kept on top of all the paperwork that he hated so much. Ron was able to count on Barbara to remind Harry to eat his lunch, to send him home on time as often as she was able and to hold him back from running into the field, telling him whose job that really was. Not only that, on some days, she was a fantastic baby-sitter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the day Ron knew he had been right about Harry hiring some help for the office was when he came home, on time, with a new box of tea for their collection.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘What do we have this time?’ Ron asked, his eyebrows raised as he looked up from feeding Lily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It’s called Chai Tea,’ Harry answered, his face lit with enthusiasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘It sounds...strange. This isn’t going to be like green tea is it?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘I don’t think so,’ though Ron did not like the tone of voice that Harry was using. ‘She says to drink it after we put Lily to bed and just to...chill out.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>‘Chill out? How old is Barbara?’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, joking aside, and their wide-eyed princess tucked safely away in her bedroom, they boiled the kettle and settled down with a cup of tea each and the wireless on in the background. And if anyone had happened to visit them unexpectedly that night; rather than finding the usual paperwork, burned dinner, chess argument couple they were used to seeing at 8.00pm on a Tuesday night, they would find Harry and Ron, snuggled together on their vintage leather sofa quietly talking about their day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Did Ron enjoy their chaos? Of course, it was something that would always be an inherent part of their life. But did Ron think that Chai Tea had saved them from an early grave brought on by the stresses of the modern Wizarding world? Bloody hell, yes!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love exploring the life of these two and introducing my own litte character to the fray made me so happy. God Bless Barbara.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Fruit Tea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Fruit Tea - A collection of beautifully fragrant and exotic tea flavours. The joys of parenthood that Ron just had to come to terms with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When people talk about their idea of parenthood, there are many things that they talk about first. They talk about the sleepless nights and the midnight feeds, they talk about the nappy changes and the potty training, the temper tantrums and the way in which two parents can create a silent language to argue over a child's head. And that was what had scared Ron the most; the comment about the arguments - it was just another thing to add to the long list of reasons he was putting off parenthood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had grown up in a house that was always full of children, a place where there was nothing but screaming and crying and no place for privacy. He knew that he would not change his family for all the world, he loved them with everything he had, but there were always times growing up when he wished he could have a little bit more of someone’s attention and a little bit less of everyone up in his business. Everything about his life was shared with the other 8 people in his house; his pet, his clothes and eventually, even his best friend. The one he had to share the entire Wizarding World with because he was their Saviour and he did not belong to him alone. His jealousy on this matter had plagued him for as long as he could remember. When it finally became him and Harry, he was so reluctant to give that up, he didn’t want someone else to come along and replace him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron thought they had enough love and joy in their life; between Harry’s newest tea obsession of fruit tea, playing Quidditch with their friends at the weekend and loving each other in every corner of the house, he didn’t want anything to change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry had always wanted children. It was not something they had ever really discussed as kids, it wasn’t really something that boys did. Once, at the Burrow, Ron had overheard a conversation between Hermione and Ginny where they were discussing their dream weddings, their dream husbands and how many children they could fit into their lovely little cottages. As he had stood there, blocking the stairs to his own room, he had scoffed at the idea of ever speaking to Harry about anything of the sort. But deep down, the idea of Harry being a parent had lingered in his subconscious and had come out to the forefront one evening after a family party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had come home, both exhausted from eating and drinking, and thrown themselves into their nightly routine. They had boiled the kettle and enjoyed a cup of fruit tea, checked on Kreacher, who was getting a little too old to be left alone for too long and climbed the stairs to their bedroom. It was only when Ron had come out of the bathroom and seen Harry sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into his own hands that he had clocked that anything was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Harry?’ Ron asked, trying to get his attention. It worked, and Harry had looked up and smiled, his face breaking out of his thoughts. But Ron could see it in his eyes; something was bothering him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Is everything okay?’ he asked, as he walked to his side of the bed and threw himself down, perching against the headboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as Harry sighed, the muscles in his back flexing and he breathed deeply. His thigh jiggled as he tapped his heels against the old wooden floor and his hands fidgeted with each other. It was only after two minutes of this nervous movement did he answer, his head still turned away, his voice the smallest Ron had ever heard it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Have you ever thought about having a family?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron’s stomach had dropped, a stone of expectancy weighing it down within him. When he pondered the issue, Ron knew that it was bound to come up sooner or later in his life. When he was younger and thought about girls, his mother would always comment and tell him that he would be a great husband and father. When he would help out with all the little cousins at parties, his father would proudly exclaim how good he was with little ones and how his future wife would indeed be lucky. But, when he fell in love with the man sitting before him, the idea had rushed away as if it was something he would never have to think of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘A family? Like...babies?’ he asked. At this Harry turned himself, placing a knee up on the bed. His face was plagued with uncertainty, his eyes downcast to the bedspread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Like babies. Have you thought about them?’ he asked, his fingers fiddling with a crease in the duvet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Harry - have you thought about them?’ he asked softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I just…’ Harry sighed. ‘I don’t know! Forget about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up and went to the bathroom and Ron sighed to himself, pulling himself off the bed and towards the white tiles of the ageing bathroom to see Harry staring at himself in the mirror, his toothbrush hanging in midair, forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to forget it if it’s bothering you,’ Ron explained, leaning against the door jam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry turned and looked at him, his uncertainty now replaced with fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I don’t want to say something about it and then you realise you don’t want it and then...then we…’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron rushed forward, taking Harry’s hands in his and rubbing his thumb against the bones in his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Hey...I don’t want you not to tell me things because you think I am gonna walk away. I want you to trust me.’ he breathed in deeply and slid his hand against Harry’s chin. ‘Harry, I know you want a family.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘You do?’ he asked, his eyes widening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Of course you do! I just...I just don’t know if I am ready - right now!’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Harry had said he understood, but made it clear that it was something he was passionate about. It made sense to Ron, he thought as he held a sleeping Harry that night, that he would want someone else to love, and hold and pass on everything he knew to. He had come from growing up unloved and deserved to want everything that family life could give him. But it terrified Ron more than anything, that Harry would love something more than him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what terrified him even more were the things he now noticed about Harry that he had not seen before. At family events, Harry would watch the children with a face that showed nothing but longing. He would organise the games with them, and care for them and throw them in the air. When anyone had a new baby, he would be the first to hold them against his strong body, rocking them until they fell asleep against his skin. Whenever Teddy came around, Harry doted on him as if he was his entire world. He bought him everything he could want, he gave him all the time he could manage. It broke Ron’s heart at first, to see Harry so wanting. But over time; the years in which it took Ron to come to terms with his own wants and needs, the look in Harry's eyes made him hot and hard faster than a secret kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was one moment that really solidified his want for a family with Harry more than any other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been made an Uncle many times, it was a given when you have so many siblings. He was godfather more times than he could count, it was his joy to make his friends happy. But, the night that Hermione had floo’d into their kitchen, heavily pregnant, and on the verge of a breakdown, Ron knew that his moment to tell Harry had come. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had stayed with her while Harry had calmed her down, tried not to laugh as Draco had followed her through the floo and freaked out and Ron had started to sweat when they realised she had gone into labour and screamed at them, begging them to come with her. After over 20 hours of labour they had heard the small cries of a powerful set of lungs and had he had turned to Harry and smiled. They had waited, falling asleep on the sofa until Draco had ushered them upstairs and the both of them had crept into the bedroom to find a glowing Hermione with a beautiful blonde bundle in her arms. Ron had watched as Harry had sat down on the bed, his face alight with wonder and joy, the joy he usually only had on his face when his mug was full of his favourite fruit tea. The three of them were speaking as he watched, talking about their gorgeous godson, about how well Hermione had done, how much they were in love with their new addition when Ron finally spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Can I hold him?’ he asked, his heart in his throat as she smiled at him and handed over her most precious possession.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight in his arms was heavenly, the heat of the small body filling his chest with warmth and his eyes with tears. And it hit him all at once, like a wave of emotion; why had they been waiting? What was he so afraid of? How could something so small and wonderful do anything but strengthen their love for one another? So he had looked at Harry, the husband he could only have dreamed of and asked him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Harry, can we have one please?’</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know this one wasn't really about the tea, but I just needed to explore Ron's thoughts on parenthood. Please keep those lovely kudos and comments coming.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The strong bitter, rich and creamy flavour of the best beans that money can buy. Harry Potter may be tea, but he knows that his Wheezy is coffee and that will never change.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If there was one thing in their home, Grimmauld Place, that kept their lives running smoothly, it was the little tin of coffee that lived in the nook next to the kettle. It was an old Chudley Cannons tin that had once contained the teams actions figures from 1987, it’s corners battered with years of wear and it’s bright painted lid scratched and faded. When they moved away from The Burrow, it had been found underneath the bed, crammed into a box of old Cannon’s memorabilia that had been deemed too important to be thrown away, even though the figures it had once contained were nowhere to be found. And even though the rest of this box of, what some would call rubbish, had found their way into the rubbish over the years by his then just best friend, the tin had remained and had found its home in their kitchen filled with the one thing he was sure Ronald Weasley could not live without; coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry had never noticed how much Ron relied on his cups of coffee until they had finally moved in together; a dream of many friends to become roommates after they left school. Of course, being British, Harry had always been partial to a cup of tea but could be persuaded into a mug of coffee if he was really in the mood. A good cup of coffee, he knew, could do many things; give you the energy for a raid when you were really lacking or finishing a lovely date with an expensive cup of a restaurants best. Harry had watched Ron serve himself a coffee over a tea at the breakfast table for years and had turned his nose up at his best friends choice of hot beverage, pondering on how he would only ever drink it black in the morning before a particularly difficult Transfiguration lesson and with cream with dinner when he knew that the evening choice of dessert wasn’t to his liking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ron always accepted tea when it was made for him; Harry always brewed it at the Burrow, helping Mrs Weasley with a big tray for the family. He had always wanted to make Ron the coffee he loved, but at the time he had never known how to; the Dursleys did not drink coffee, saying that it was for commoners and immigrants. And the older they became, it was just one of those skills that he faltered at every time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he was distracted by his own impending failures and sitting cramped in a tent that smelt like old cats, it was always the coffee that appeared to run out first and, although Harry never saw Ron drink it, the smell enveloped the three lost teenagers in a bubble of comfort. Thinking back, Harry complained so much about what Ron would say in the tent, how frustrated he would become, but the boy had never once complained about the coffee they had bought, no matter how poor the brand or quality.  When Ron had left them - left him -  Harry would find himself on duty, his fingers frozen against the winter wind, with his nose stuck deep into an empty bag of coffee wishing that the intense flavour that filled his nostrils was planted on the clothes of a certain redhead. He knew that Hermione had noticed the habit, but had not said anything, neither had she said anything about their tendency to cuddle up together for warmth when she was on watch, or the tender way in which they looked out for each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He would have been remiss to admit it, but it was in those desperate times that he came to understand the feelings he had for Ron were not the platonic feelings of a protective brother, but that of a man hidden within himself. At first, it had been difficult to accept himself for what he was, having spent his formative years being put down for being different and seeing the way in which the non-magical world felt about gender and sexuality; but after the war, it became so clear to him that in death, he would be treated the same and so, he let those all encompassing feelings for his red-headed best friend wash over him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Harry knew that they had since evolved together, to a household where ‘tea’ always seemed to be the first words in the morning, and was the remedy for nightmares and stresses alike. But, Harry also understood that his lover's love of coffee was something that should be cherished. So, Harry made sure that when they walked in from a bracing Quidditch practise on a Sunday morning he would ask ‘Coffee?’ and be greeted with a beaming smile that rivalled the heavens. On a Christmas Morning when they were packed into the Burrow with, what felt like, a million other people, Harry would shout over at his mother-in-law ‘A coffee for Ron, please!’ and receive a wet kiss on the cheek from the man in question. And at 3am on the morning of the 2nd of May, Harry would always find Ron out in the garden staring at the stars, his face awash with memories and grief and silently push a cup of coffee into his hands before placing a tender kiss on the man’s shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Harry loved tea, it was the one drink that he believed could cure everything that ailed him. Harry made tea for Ron; forced him to drink new blends, spent their hard earned money on expensive procurements that his husband would roll his eyes at, secretly tried to grow his own tea leaves until Ron had pulled them from the ground mistaking them for weeds. Their friends would laugh and exclaim to Ron that his husband had been lost to a world of fragrant dirt water and that he must hate never getting to drink what he loves. But Ron would always roll his eyes and meet Harry’s with a soft blush upon his cheeks, because they both knew that Harry would serve him a steaming cup of coffee later that night with an apology for being the worst most tea-obsessed husband, and Ron would laugh and tell him that it was just the way he loved him, and Harry would always agree.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So that is it. I am unsure of whether I will return to these two or not - I have grown to love them more than I anticipated. I also loved that this story was another way to explore the multi-chapter fic and the AU I had made and didn't really want to let go of just yet. Maybe 'Illusioned' will see more but right now I have other things on the horizon and I can't wait to share them with you all.</p>
<p>Thank you to all of you that read, and liked and shared and commented; you have, once again, made this process a thousand times easier than it would have been otherwise.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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